Everybody PeesPosted: 04/09/2013
Just got back from a weekend trip to New York full of family and craziness and fun. My Great Aunt (who was like my grandmother growing up) turned 90, I ran a race and had a joint surprise baby/wedding shower with my (new) sister-in-law, and (sorry, the best part of the weekend…)I watched my brother get married to said new sister
During this trip, I experienced both a high and a low of pregnancy. The high was, obviously, the shower. I got to spend some time with people I love (and I spent surprisingly little time stressing about how gross I looked) and I brought some adorable and generous presents home. I didn’t sleep well during my trip, and I had run a race in Central Park that morning, so when the party was through, so was I. DOA.
My parents, sister (!), and I left the party with our load and headed over to Queens in a cab. They finally got there an hour and a half and $75 later, the majority of that time/money spent in traffic on 1st Ave. I do not miss living in the city.
They lost me around 57th street, when I decided to split off from them and go straight to my friend’s house where I was staying (my brother’s house was full of the rest of the fam). I was stupid tired, and I couldn’t imagine going back to my brother’s, spending time with the family, and then heading to a second location. I got out of the cab and called my husband for a little walk-and-talk (he was stuck at home working). Then I thought… you know, I could pee.
I hadn’t thought about it until then, because I had peed about 10-15 minutes before we left. No big deal, I walked confidently to the Banana Republic down the block and tried the door. Locked. It was a Sunday, and it was after 8pm. Apparently, on 5th ave, that means no access, closed, denied.
I kept walking. Surely, there was something open. Gap – nope, Container Store – nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. At this point, I couldn’t hear anything my husband was saying. My brain was too loud: PEE PEE PEE.
Finally, my loins rejoiced. A Duane Reade. I ran inside. And yelled “BATHROOM!” at the cashier. She said “one minute” and that was it: a tiny drop of pee escaped into my pants. “I DON’T HAVE A MINUTE! I’M PREGNANT!” I shrieked, but it kept coming. Another drop, and another, then a trickle. She moved fast, thank Cashier, so I avoided a puddle. The rest of the warrior pee went to its rightful place inside of the toilet. But it was enough. I had peed my pants.
At this point I realize I’m still on the phone with my husband. Yes. He virtually witnessed this experience. Lucky guy.
After a few minutes of willing this not to have happened, I finished up in the bathroom and began my search for pants. I started in Duane Reade, looking for something, anything… pajama pants, clown pants. I almost went with leggings, but it was a little cold and I’m a little chicken. Oh well, I figured, I’ll just find another store.
Of course, you’re all smarter than I am, so you know why I was not, in the end, able to find pants. Sunday, now 9pm, and you guessed it, even fewer stores were open. So, I rationalized. I was wearing a longish jacket and happened to have my jeans on, so the problem wasn’t an in-your-face one. The subway ride was relatively short, and I could just stand (so no one would have to sit in my pee later). Besides, it’s New York. People pee everywhere.
So, yes, I was totally grossed out and spent Monday peeing every chance I got just in case, but I’m not that embarrassed. I’ve had so few issues with this pregnancy that it was (sort of) nice to experience something that was an actual thing associated with pregnancy. Sure, I’ve had heartburn a few times, but that was nothing. I survived fucking WARRIOR PEE. I would say I’ve earned my first pregnancy badge.